


Have I Played the Part Well?

by Eissel



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 5+1 Things, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fake Character Death, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Horror Elements, Hurt No Comfort, I put both Gracia and Maes through hell and I'm not sorry for it, Impersonation, Maes Hughes Lives, Manipulation, Medical Inaccuracies, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fill, Psychological Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eissel/pseuds/Eissel
Summary: Gracia waits for the day her private war can be said to be over, because it doesn’t end when Maes comes home.No, it’s only just begun.
Relationships: Elicia Hughes & Gracia Hughes & Maes Hughes, Envy & Gracia Hughes, Gracia Hughes & Maes Hughes, Gracia Hughes/Maes Hughes, Riza hawkeye/roy mustang (background)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: Truth or...?





	Have I Played the Part Well?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icewhisper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icewhisper/gifts).



> Notes: I really put Gracia through the wringer in this one, I’m sorry ;-;  
> Also, for anyone who’s read the original Fake Maes AU? Buckle up kids, we’re going for a fucking ride.

**I**

It starts with Maes, her loveable, idiot of a husband, because of course it does. 

He’s remarkably _normal_ when he returns, none of the hysteria or eerie silences she’d heard of from other girlfriends or wives of military men. He never acts out of turn, never turns to drink, but still, Gracia can tell he’s suffering, and that he’s hiding it for her sake. 

The night is old, she finds as she wakes up in a cold bed, the other half’s smooth sheets telling her that Maes has been up and about for a while now. Shadows from the dim hall light grow long and terrible, distorting and stretching along the bedroom walls. 

Getting up from the bed, she starts to plod quietly down the hall. She stops just before entering the parlor, she can hear Maes voice filter in quietly through the hall door. It feels like she’s spying on him, witnessing a scene that she was never meant to. 

She clings to the door frame, as she listens to him talk to someone on the phone, likely Roy Mustang, the young State Alchemist who Maes had introduced to her about a week into their homecoming. 

“I don’t know how to talk to her Roy.” Maes’ voice mutters, silence reigns for a moment before he speaks again. “We’re not like you and… We don’t have what you two have.” There is a heavy sigh, and she hears him moving around a little, bumping into chairs and tables. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell her, but… I made a promise. I said that I wouldn’t bring the war home with me, and I meant that.” 

She watches as a shadow appears, flickering in and out of existence in the gap between the door and the floor. “She’s asleep, deep too. She doesn’t wake up really easy.” He laughs, choked in a manner that makes her suspect that he’s been crying. Stepping away from the parlor door, Gracia walks back to the bedroom, and lies on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

They’re two of a kind, her and Maes. She doesn’t want to tell him either.

She stays silent when he wakes her up with nightmares, she never says anything the car back-fires, and he jumps back, eyes wide and wild. When he returns from work, looking like death warmed over, she smiles sunnily and makes a note to make spinach quiché for him that night.

* * *

Gracia finds him in the bathroom one morning, half spilled out on the floor, half clinging to the sink. The room stinks of bleach and cleaner, and she briefly wonders if he’s accidentally mixed some of her cleaning supplies. The thought in mind, she nudges the door open wide, and drags him out into the hallway. He barely makes a noise as she does this. 

“Will you tell me now?” She asks softly, joining him against the wall.

“You weren’t there.” He whispers hoarsely. His eyes shut as he fails to suppress a whimper. She wonders what nightmare it was this time. Gracia doesn’t voice the thought, mindful of the effect it would have on Maes. Still, sometimes it feels like there’s a yawning crevice between them, one that despite all her efforts, she can’t quite seem to bridge. But she knows better. 

“No, I wasn’t.” She admits. 

“Then I shouldn’t.” He retorts. 

“You shouldn’t bottle it all up Maes.” She goes to take his hand, and he flinches away from her. She knows why, in his nightmares he’ll sometimes whimper that he “doesn’t want to touch her” with his “blood-stained hands.” “That’s a recipe for disaster.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and eventually Gracia gives up on forcing him. Getting up, she dusts off her skirt, and goes to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. As she the kettle starts to boil, she finds herself crying, full on sobbing really, onto the stove. 

Maes doesn’t come to see what’s wrong.

She didn’t really expect him to.

* * *

When he finally tells her about his experiences in Ishval, it is a year after the protests have finally died down, and after an extensive first couple rounds of therapy first with a man Gracia’s own workplace had suggested to her after having to witness an operation go seriously wrong, then with a therapist the military had picked out for Maes once Gracia had filled out the form they sent out to the spouses of veterans.

It comes out of the blue really, she’s only just come home from grocery shopping when she finds him on the patchwork couch her mother had given to them as a housewarming gift. He’s fidgeting, playing with his watch, which tells her that he has something important to say.

So she gently sets the bag of groceries down, and sits beside him, taking his hand.

“I bounced around a lot in my early months at the front.” He says quietly. “It was rough.” 

Gracia listens intently, and doesn’t dare interrupt. Maes doesn’t tell her the entire story… But it’s progress.

* * *

**II**

_MAES. ALIVE. DISAPPEARED. STAY. SAFE._

Gracia is nothing if not quick on the uptake, or so her husband would tell her. She drops the scratch paper into the fireplace, and smiles at Elicia when her daughter tugs on her dress and asks why “Mommy is burning the pretty paper”

“It’s just some wrapping paper sent by the grocer.” She coos to her, ruffling her hair. “Now, Elicia, can you please clean up your homework from the dinner table? It’s time to eat.” While Elicia runs off to do just that, Gracia leans heavily into the frame of the nonexistent door to the kitchen.

Maes was alive. She crushed the envelope that contained the original coded message to her chest, only suppressing her tears through sheer will. Her husband is alive, _alive, alive,_ **_alive._ **

She keeps the news from Elicia, she’ll tell her eventually, but Gracia _can’t_ just _can’t_ ask her daughter to act in front of all the people that will be at the service to morrow. It’s just not possible. If Elicia were older, maybe, but no. Not when her daughter is so young and impressionable. 

She collects herself quickly, not wanting Elicia to see. Walking briskly over to her bedroom, she drops the now crumpled letter into a private lockbox, and refuses to take another look at it. 

Once a week, she tells herself. She can look at the letter once a week. It would be silly to place all her hopes, all her ability on a letter. She had to stay strong, for herself, and for Elicia. She claps her hands to her face to bring her back to reality. 

* * *

The funeral is two days away. She has to make sure it all looks right, or Maes will _really_ be dead.

The funeral is on a bright and sunny day. The birds are singing, and Gracia is dressed in straight laced, somber black. In the front stands Roy and Riza, looking as prim and proper as propriety demands. 

They ask her to say a few words, which she forced through a choked voice. Elicia holds onto her dress, hands threatening to rip the thin fabric as Gracia struggles to get through the speech. Even though she knows he isn’t dead, the whole process makes her rational mind drown under the weight of _this is_ **_his_ ** _funeral._

“My husband was a kind and compassionate man, and wherever he is now, I am sure he is smiling down on us.” She nods absentmindedly, and carries Elicia back to their spot in the crowd. There is precious little to say after that, and then they start to lower his coffin into the grave.

Elicia kicks up a fuss, yelling and begging to not put her father in the ground. Gracia presses the girl to her chest to try to smother the cries. 

It doesn’t work. They still echo out into the silence, still echo deep into Gracia’s mind. 

At that moment, Gracia’s rock-steady belief in Maes’ survival is a little less sure. 

* * *

**III** \- 

When she goes to open the door, it is with the facade of a grieving wife, one that is half-fake and half-real, like all the best ones are.

She looks up into the obsidian irises of Roy Mustang, and has to stop herself from automatically slamming the door into his face. Instead, she smiles charmingly, shakily, and invites him in.

She notices the limp to his gait, notices his slightly rumpled uniform, and most tellingly, the cherry red lipstick on the back of his head. 

It takes all her effort to not run to the kitchen and grab a knife, takes all her effort to not run and grab Elicia as she runs until she is far away from the fake that is in her house. 

“What are you doing here at this hour Roy?” She asks, voice genteel with a hint of sorrow and exasperation. “Don’t tell me you aren’t done unpacking yet.” The man in front of her laughs, his smile not reaching his eyes. 

“Oh, I just wanted to check in with you.” He says it with sincerity in the tone, and Gracia smiles like she isn’t terrified of him. 

“Oh, I see.” She says, walking quickly past him. “Would you like me to put on some pasta for you?” 

“Yes, that would be lovely.” Her heart pounds away in her chest as she walks away, paranoia spiking. The person out there is not Roy Mustang, the man her husband was best friends with. It’s likely that the man does not even realize that she has figured him out, likely doesn’t even realize all the simple things he’s gotten wrong.

For one, Roy didn’t have pure black irises, he had a hint of dark blue around the edges, which seemed black when far enough away… But well, sit across a person for long enough, and you picked up on details like that. 

For another, she’d never seen Roy _ever_ come in like he’d had a quickie all of 5 minutes before he walked into the Hughes residence. He’d prided himself of being presentable, if not for his own sake, then for Elicia’s. 

She pours the boiling water with a shaky hand, but manages to get through the meal. She doesn’t know why people are trying to impersonate Roy, but she won’t let them know she’s caught on. 

Gracia can’t afford it. The plate of pasta makes her want to throw up as she looks at it, because it reminds her of warm night around a crowded table of friends and family with a small black and white dog yipping and yapping at their heels. It reminds her of getting slightly tipsy and happily accepting congratulations on being a good hostess.

She places the plate in front of the impersonator, best smile on. 

“Do you like it?” She asks absentmindedly, to fill the silence.

“I do.” He says, and Gracia nods. “That’s good.” Her hands tighten into fists, her skirt catching in her hands. She watches the man eat, making no more conversation. 

As he finishes, handing the plate back to her, Gracia gets the feeling that the worst is yet to come.

She’s right.

* * *

The impersonators don’t stop. 

After “Roy” is “Riza”, a cold glint to warm brown eyes, and Hayate mysteriously absent from her side.

The woman is less competent than her male comrade, saying things Riza never would, and the obvious attempts at fishing for information don’t escape Gracia’s notice. Hell, whoever it is, is so incompetent that even Elicia noticed, walking up to the lady with a big smile and a “where’s Hayate Auntie Riza?” on her lips. 

The woman had stalled, nervousness flickering in her eyes as she stammered out something about him being at the vet. 

After them is “Havoc” and this one could have fooled her… if she hadn’t seen Havoc’s sorry state in the hospital mere days before. She still smiles brightly, forcing him into the couch with a “sit tight Jean, I’ll go make us some coffee and fetch you those cigarettes you like.” 

“Havoc” doesn’t stay long, which she’s grateful for, she isn’t certain she would be capable of keeping up that facade for very long. 

It goes a lot like that for a while, rotating and swapping familiar faces with varying degrees of competence. 

And then the unthinkable happens.

Maes stands there on her doorstep. Elicia is peeking around her legs, and as soon as she sees him, her little face lights up. 

“Daddy!” She shouts, launching herself into his arms. “Where have you been?” She asks.

“...On a secret mission sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m just glad to be back home with my girls.” He opens his arms out wide, gesturing with his fingers for Gracia to come closer. She doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to embrace Maes and realize that he was an imposter like all the rest.

But it’s been _so long…_ And this person clearly has most of Maes’ mannerisms down, and he looks _so much_ like her husband… Can’t she let herself believe for a moment?

She grabs him in a hug of her own, crushing Elicia between them. Tears run down her face, and Maes pats her back. 

“I’m safe, okay? I’m safe, don’t you worry...” He whispers. She cries into his chest.

“I’m so glad to have you back.”

* * *

**IV**

_May the gods be my witness,_ the letter starts. _I will watch Xerxes die by flame and steel. My dearest, how much agony he has wrecked upon us all, how much pain he has caused our people. Do you know of the rebellion in the west, the one that was put down by him personally?_

_If only he had died then, so much would have changed._

Her face crumples as she finishes reading it. She presses it close to her chest, and drops it in the lockbox. She risks a glance out to the sitting room, where Elicia and… “Maes” are playing. A choked laugh nearly escapes her, but it comes out as a sob instead. 

She’d been so foolish. Foolish to believe that after a long string of imposters that _this_ person had to be real. Gripping the edge of the box tightly, Gracia curls in on herself. How would she break it to Elicia that the man out there, the man that had fooled the both of them wasn’t her father?

A traitorous voice in the back of her heard whispered that Roy could be wrong, that she wouldn’t know until she had tested the veracity of the claim herself. It’s an _awful,_ **_awful_ **thought, one that should have never crossed her mind.

As she gets up, she walks into the sitting room, and is hyper aware of all the things “Maes” is doing. His movements are stiff, unnatural, his eyes not as bright whenever Elicia laughs.

She tries to brush it off as paranoia, but other incidents flood her mind. 

How he had forgotten to give Elicia a big sloppy kiss before he went out to work, how he had managed to drink tea without grimacing, the stiff and awkward way he would reorient himself as he stepped through the door. 

It feels wrong, scrutinizing his behavior like this, but Roy’s letter has planted a seed of doubt in her mind. One that can only be assuaged by two outcomes: 

Either the Maes playing with Elicia is real, or he’s not. In the case of the first one, all is well, and she can tell Roy to stop being so paranoid.

If he’s not however… 

Gracia risks another glance at the two playing. She notices how easy it would be for a grown man like Maes to hurt _her_ let alone Elicia. She knows how easy he’d have it if he decided to corner them. 

If he’s _not_ real, then it was back to baby steps and careful words. Back to living on the ragged edge. 

“What are you making for dinner mommy?” Elicia asks, and Gracia forces a smile. Maes doesn’t notice, and a spike of fear sends her heart into her throat.

“...Just some paella mixta dear.” She states after a moment to calm her nerves. She watches Maes for a reaction, and has to mask her horror when he doesn’t make a joke about laying off the spices, or even whine that she was going to kill his taste buds. 

He just smiles, and continues to play with Elicia, but even Elicia can see that his reaction is off, as she scampers away to grab at Gracia’s dress.

“I wanna help mommy!” She declares. Gracia nods and picks her up. 

“We’ll yell for you when it’s done.” “Maes” nods and walks off, doesn’t even pretend trip over one of Elicia’s toy so he can fake scold her and remind her to pick up after herself. Doesn’t ask if he could help only to be rebuffed. Just… a nod, and then he walked off. 

When Gracia sets Elicia down in the kitchen, her daughter immediately runs over to her side, sticking to her like glue.

“That’s not daddy.” Elicia says after 10 minutes of silence. Gracia pauses in her stirring of the pork and vegetables. 

“That’s right darling.” She chokes out. “That’s not daddy.”

“Where is he then?” Elicia asks quietly. “I want daddy.”

“I don’t know sweetheart… But Uncle Roy and Auntie Riza are looking for him. I promise.” Elicia doesn’t reply to that, so Gracia turns her attention back on the food. The heat of the flame makes her sweat, but it helps take her mind off of the situation. As she plates the food, she turns to Elicia, and takes her by the shoulder. “Elicia, you know that the man out there isn’t daddy.” Elicia nods, timid and small, it breaks Gracia’s heart. “Well, he can’t know that we know that, okay?”

Elicia’s eyes are wide, and she nods, carefully and slowly. 

“Yes mommy.” She puts a chubby finger to her lips, then shakes her head in a fashion that would be adorable if not for the situation they were in. She kisses Elicia on the forehead, and sets out her plate. 

“Get started Elicia.” Walking out to the sitting room, she notices that there’s a bundle of letters shoved underneath the door’s gap. Picking them up, she recognizes one from Roy, his slanted handwriting sticking out like a sore thumb. Saving that one for later, she shuffles it into the stack, covering it up with bills and letters from home. “Maes!” She yells, alerting the imposter. “Dinner’s ready!”

* * *

Dinner is a quiet affair, the events of the day weighing heavy on Gracia and Elicia. Maes is the only one of them that eats with any sort of gusto, and Gracia quietly mourns the few weeks of happiness she’d been able to salvage since Maes’ “death.”

The paella she gives him is heat intensive, laden down with high spice peppers like ripened Serranos, dried Cayenne flakes, and Piri Piri. Then there’s the saffron, it’s the bitterest one she’s ever had the displeasure to try, only used when she is either out of the usual saffron she buys or when she’s heavily displeased with Maes that day. 

He eats it without a word. 

“That was fantastic Gracia.” He compliments, not staying to help her clean up. As he leaves, Gracia lets her head hang down, she refuses to let Elicia see her cry. 

No. Fuck that. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. 

“Elicia, I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“Mommy?” She asks. 

“Mommy will be there in a minute. I just have something to read from Uncle Roy, okay?” Elicia nods, and runs off. Gracia fishes out the letter, and reads through it. The sound that comes out of her mouth is strangled and closer to a wheeze than anything coherent.

The decoded message is only hidden under a Cesar cipher, Roy hasn’t bothered really coding it this time, perhaps more concerned with her getting the information than discreetness.

_READ. HOMUNCULUS. M SUSPECT. SEE. PREVIOUS._

She burns it as fast as she can, and goes to tuck Elicia in. 

* * *

The fake does not touch her until one fateful day, when the moon is dark and it is a starless night. There is no light by which to see the act, and Gracia is both thankful and regretful at the fact.

It slaps her across the face first, and Gracia moves with it, taking it on the jaw for the most part. 

“Have you been drinking Maes?” She asks, as though there is nothing abnormal about what has just happened. It sneers, contorting his face into a mask of displeasure that Gracia has never seen on Maes before. Her hands bunch into fists, lacquered nails ripping tender flesh open.

As it advances on her, she goes for the throat, slamming all her weight into him. The fake stumbles, but does not fall like she expects, and it catches her around the waist, taking her down to the floor. 

She thanks all the good in the world that Elicia is at a friend’s place for the weekend, that she won’t return until Tuesday morning.

“You shouldn’t be so uppity with your husband.” It says, and Gracia smiles, it’s not pretty or kind, it’s 100% hate and spite that fuels her now.

“You aren’t my husband.” She hisses, blood pounding in her ears, and she feels weightless for but a second, as it yanks her up to her feet, bruises already forming on her back and on her thighs. 

“But I could be.” They say, breath ghosting against her ear. “And isn’t that just the fun part?” She breaks away from the fake, a bad limp to her gait. She ignores it in favor of blocking the way to the kitchen. Gracia watches as the puncture wounds from her nails slowly heal in a buzz of red light that reminds her of alchemy. It smiles enigmatically at her, and dusts its clothes off. “I’ll see you around, but-” It pauses to narrow its eyes and glare at her. “If I catch even a whiff of you talking to _anyone_ about this, I will take that precious brat of yours and I will snap her neck.”

Gracia says nothing as the fake walks out the door, and she collapses to her knees. Her lungs are on fire, her legs feel like jelly. 

She wipes a hand across her mouth, and she sees blood as she withdraws it. Getting to her feet, she staggers to the bathroom to patch herself up. She dumps alcohol on the open cuts, uncaring of how much she’s wasting. She’s done giving a damn. 

The alcohol stings, but it’s a welcome burn, the smell of it helps too, lets her pretend for a moment that she’s back in the hospital, rushing about to prepare for another patient. She’d given that life up to raise Elicia, the shifts at the hospital being unkind to a young mother with a husband in the military, and she wasn’t for a moment sorry for it.

But there were times, times like now, when she could hear her friends berate her for doing such and such stitch incorrectly, or groan as she messily did up a bandage to wrap her bruises, that she found herself missing the place, with all its faults. Times like now, where she could lean back on cold tile and smell strong alcohol being used were the worst. 

She gets herself sorted out in what feels like 5 hours, but what is more likely to be 3. She again thanks her lucky stars that Elicia is out, she would have never been able to hide this from her. Her fingers trail across her jawline, at the ugly bruise that would form there if she wasn’t careful. 

It’s a shame that she’s already used up all the bruise salve. Dragging herself off of the cold bathtub rim, she admires the patch job in the mirror. Not the worst she’s ever seen, but not the best either. 

It’ll keep until Elicia got home, and that was all she could really ask for. As she limps into the kitchen, she reaches into the cabinet and grabs a packet she had never thought she’d be looking for ever again, not since she’d given them up years and years ago. 

She grips a cigarette with her teeth as she strikes the match against its box to light it. It’s bad for her, she knows, her boss and colleagues at the hospital had certainly given her grief for it time and time again. But today she just _needs_ it, like she _needs_ this nightmare to just be over already.

“So this is how it ends, huh?” She asks herself, not quite sure if she’s referring to the habit or to the faker finally snapping. 

The silence of the room is the only answer the world gives her, and Gracia lets herself go in the haze of nicotine and smoke. 

* * *

**V**

The memories are the worst. Remembering Maes before this whole ordeal usually sends her into crying spirals if she’s alone. But Elicia’s with her, so that’s not an option.

She stands by the window, humming a soft tune as Elicia gets herself ready. The girl is bouncy and bubbly, clearly happy to be spending the eclipse with her friend. Gracia on the other hand is on high alert. 

The imposter- _homunculus-_ she corrects, hasn’t been around for practically a month. It puts her on edge, but she isn’t about to complain. The more time the homunculus isn’t around them, the less time Gracia will have to feel scared and wary of the _real_ Maes when he comes back to them.

She feverishly hopes that that period of time will be short. 

(She remembers the day she went to the library and read up on what a homunculus was. The first words that had caught her eye were _fake human,_ and she had wholeheartedly agreed.)

The sun is brutal on her skin, but she refuses to move. It’s a nice day out, better than anything they’d had in weeks, and she doesn’t want to miss this opportunity. The sky is clear, a bluer blue hasn’t been seen in Central for months.

It still feels like something bad is about to happen.

The phone rings, and Gracia listens absentmindedly to Elicia’s friend’s mother, who explains that while she would love to have Elicia over at any other time, she just can’t because her daughter is sick, and Elicia shouldn’t get sick as well.

It’s only after the 3rd “hello, are you listening” that Gracia mutters an “I understand” into the receiver before hanging up.

It feels like she’s moving through a dreamworld. Everything sluggish and muted, or faster and horribly brighter than normal depending on the state of mind she’s in. Her mind longs for a cigarette, to calm her nerves, but she broke once already, and she will not do so again.

(Besides, she’d already thrown them all out weeks ago, and she wasn’t going to leave Elicia alone in the house to go get some just to throw them out again)

Elicia stirs her from her stupor, and Gracia relays the bad news. Elicia is put out, but pacified when Gracia suggests that they watch the eclipse together.

The moon’s shadow is nearly at its apex, and Gracia adjusts Elicia’s eclipse glasses as her daughter nearly falls off the windowsill and onto the couch trying to capture the moment the moon’s shadow converges with the sun.

Gracia watches, a steady hand on Elicia’s back as the shadow inches closer.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the sun is entirely covered in darkness, and Gracia feels somewhat underwhelmed. She’d been… well, not expecting _more_ per say, but it was still a little disappointing. At least Elicia was enjoying it though.

“ _Went out with a whimper and not with a blast eh?_ ” She flinched, the phantom voice of Maes at her shoulder. She closes her eyes the seconds tick by, She can imagine the moon’s shadow slowly leaving the sun behind-

For a minute, an hour, an eternity, all Gracia can feel is _pain._ Collapsing to the ground, she manages to catch Elicia as her daughter falls. The brunette is whimpering, hiding her face in Gracia’s chest. 

Everything is pain, and Gracia blacks out.

* * *

**_+1_ **

She holds Maes’ hand when it’s all over, and practically just folds into him. 

“You’re so strong Gracia.” He murmurs once they get back home and Elicia’s had her fill of his renewed presence. “I wouldn’t have-... I would have cracked in the first week.”

“I got a letter.” She says. “From Roy, about 2 days before the funeral. It said that you were alive after I decoded it. I read that letter, over and over again. It gave me hope.” Maes doesn’t comment on the long red scratches that go down her arms, doesn’t say anything about the ugly bruise that shadows her jaw.

After a few minutes, she stands up, a little unsteady on her feet, but it’s nothing worth mentioning. She tugs his hand through the winding streets of Central City, to an apartment building that is wholly unfamiliar to him.

“We- _I_ -” she forcefully corrects, “Bought a new apartment. The old one reminds-” She closes her eyes, and drops his hand. “It has too many memories attached.” Gracia moves like a ghost, walking through the halls of the building with nary a sound. 

“That’s not the only reason.” He says. 

“No. We moved because our neighbors would notice that you weren’t dead too. At least, when they weren’t busy making up rumors that I had been cheating on you with Roy.” Her lips quirk down in an ugly frown, and she collapses gracelessly in the couch nearest the half wall that separates the parlor from the kitchen.

The sunlight plays in her hair, turning it all light and blonde, and stray pieces fly around her face, framing it nicely. The autumn breeze is cool as it blows in, knocking Maes back into reality as he locks the door securely. Gracia doesn’t appear to be too bothered, but she notices the flinch and far too scared shiver he has when _he_ feels the cool breeze, so she reaches up lazily and locks up the window as well. 

“They had me for a few months.” He explains. “To keep Roy in line.”

“Mhm.” She says noncommittally. “They had a fake live with me. That must have been the time they got you. It was a good fake too. I wasn’t sure it wasn’t you until it choked down the tea I set out for myself in the mornings.”

“A pretty bad fake then.” Maes weakly joked. Gracia didn’t laugh. He could feel the weight of the silence between them, could feel the tension in the air. She was still in survival mode, he realized as she tracked his every movement as he took a seat next to her.

Her body faced away from him, he put a hand on her back. She didn’t flinch away, but he saw her biting her lips to shreds. “It’s okay.” He said at last. “If you’re still afraid.”

“No, no it’s not!” She shouted, whirling on him so fast, Maes didn’t have time to properly recognize the motion, and instinctively put his arms up as a block. “Y-You… You were on the run for your _life,_ you were _locked up_ and _tortured_ by those monsters.” She cried. “And all I had to do-”

“Don’t say that Gracia!” He exclaims, gathering her to him. “Don’t you ever say that. Your pain wasn’t- _isn’t_ \- lesser than mine.” He traces her jaw, feeling the muscle under his fingers jump and twitch. “They hurt you too.” He whispers. “So please don’t say that.” She falls silent, and Maes isn’t naive enough to believe that she really believed him.

One day at a time, one day at a time. She’d believe him eventually as they worked through it all together.

* * *

The day (or night rather) finally comes when Gracia tells him about how she suffered under Envy’s stint at living with her and Elicia. 

“It was hell. Every waking moment, every second was hell.” She says, back firmly to him, voice not higher than a whisper. “I would look into his eyes, and I would know it wasn’t you.” Her voice trembled. “The worst part of it though… Was that I believed it was you. For much longer than I should have.” 

“Envy was very conv-”

“Please don’t Maes.” He attempts instead to touch her, but she draws away, clinging to her pillow.

“I love you, you know that Gracia?”

“I know.” She says. “But I don’t deserve it.” He… He doesn’t even know _where_ to begin with _that_ asinine statement.

“You were tricked, manipulated! Gracia, it _isn’t_ your fault… No one blames you.”

“And that’s the problem.” She sighs, voice tired and thin. “In the absence of a jury, I was judge and executioner, and I _fell_ for the lies, I _wanted_ to believe them.”

“Gracia.” He says at last. “When I was first picked up by Roy and Riza… I had nearly been shot. Did I tell you?”

“Yes.”

“I left out something though.” 

“What?”

“Before they managed to get me away, Envy had been preparing to shoot me. I… I tried to fight back, but I couldn’t harm them.” That statement makes Gracia finally turn around to look at him, unasked questions in her eyes. “They looked like you love.” Gracia’s eyes widen, and she starts to say something, but Maes keeps talking. “They looked like you, and I was frozen stiff. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t harm someone that looked like you, even though I knew it wasn’t you, and I knew that my life would be in danger otherwise.”

He kisses her on the cheek. “Please stop blaming yourself. But if you continue, you’ll just have to blame me too.”

She says nothing, but that’s good enough for now. He wraps an arm around her, and this time she doesn’t jerk away. 

* * *

The morning after is a beautiful sight for Maes.

She sits on the windowsill, humming a tune under her breath. The window she sits on is open wide, letting the cool autumn air in. The sunlight converges on her, illuminating her in a halo of light. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

Some of her wounds from… that time… are still there, only scars now, but they still serve as somber reminders. He doesn’t join her on the perch yet. Instead, he takes out his camera, and fixes her in center frame.

It doesn’t capture even a tenth of the beauty and strength Gracia has, but it manages to be beautiful in its own right. Gracia exudes a youthful glow in the picture, like a fairy tale princess. The haze of sleepy, just after dawn uptown Central City gives it a dream-like feeling. Her white thin-strap dress is slightly falling off her shoulder as she leans her head on it, bracing her body against the window frame. 

It snaps him back to the night of his homecoming, when Gracia was still guarded and unsure, when she looked more bandage than human, and he was still terrified and hypersensitive, but the determined look in Gracia’s eyes, that stern “I’m going to make this work” had provided him with a glimmer of hope that it would all work out.

Gracia hasn’t noticed his peeping just yet, so he places the photo on the mantle, the camera beside it, and he plops down on the sill.

“Morning. There’s coffee for you on the table.” Damn, so she _had_ noticed after all… 

“Thanks.” He says sheepishly. 

“Did it turn out good?” She asked, shifting her position to accommodate him, resulting with her head on his shoulder.

“Ah, yeah. Still can’t compare to the real thing.” She giggled and hit him on the shoulder.

“You _rogue_ you.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, Gracia further curled up on the sill. “I’m glad I married you.”

“And so am I. I’m the luckiest man in the whole world. A perfect wife, and a perfect daughter! What else could a man ask for?”

“A best friend who doesn’t go running full tilt at every corrupt military higher-up?” Gracia asked with a teasing tone. 

“Put your snark away dear, I’m afraid you’ll deflate Roy’s ego if you go after him like that. But yes, I would also like one of those.”

“Deflating Roy’s ego isn’t an achievement Maes, Riza, hell, the whole team do it on a regular basis. Besides, I have ground to make up.” She stretched, and finally got off the windowsill. “You shouldn’t stay there for too long, Elicia will be up soon, and your coffee will get cold.”

“It’s just for a minute more.” He promised. A skeptical eyebrow raise was what he got in return. He waved her off with a smile. “I _promise._ ” She finally relented and retreated to Elicia’s bedroom, presumably to head off their little bundle of joy before she saw him on the sill.

Staring out at the hazy Central cityscape, he was suddenly aware of just how much their little family had endured, how much they’d endured individually. 

He leaned his head on the window frame, the somber thought weighing on him. Still, they had all made significant progress, they were almost back to before. Not that _before_ could ever truly be accomplished, they were all so different from back then. 

But life had moved on, even if it had seemed like it was moving at a snail’s pace at the time. They were having their friends and family over a large dinner to celebrate Ed finally leaving the military, he and Gracia were planning on potentially giving Elicia a sibling, Roy had finally popped the question to Riza (a moment Maes had photos of and was just _waiting_ for a moment to embarrass his best friend with them), Grumman’s leadership was slowly turning their warmongering country into a country with actual democratic overtures (he remembered seeing in the paper the order that restored all of Parliament’s back to their levels before the historical coup)... 

Yes, life was slowly moving on, and, as Maes got off the sill and closed the windows, the sounds of his darling daughter waking up echoing through the apartment.

It had taken a long time, but at least they’d made it in the end. 

They were finally healing.

  
  



End file.
